Infection
by lucifer ravana
Summary: Peel back the layers of skin to find the real disease. A fic about redemption. Tom/Myrtle, Voldemort/Snape.


_"Hell is yourself and the only redemption is when a person puts himself aside to feel deeply for another person."_

---

For the fourth time this year, the second floor girl's bathroom was flooded. The basilisk had come back down almost as soon as it had gone up and slithered back into the statue where it felt safest.

There has been a killing.

I shouldn't have been surprised. How many times have I sent out my pet only for it to return empty-handed? Always to be petrified and kept in the infirmary, always another dismal failure. Now, the entire school will know of the threat that lurks in this school.

I'm up and out of the chamber quickly. The sinks close as my feet land in several inches of water. The pipes are all clogged once again and I slosh through the dark water in an attempt to get to the door. Something blocks my way and I trip and fall face first into the cold filthy fluid.

Myrtle's body touches my leg and wraps her cold fingers around my heart. She squeezes tightly and won't let go even as I try to rouse her. She could not be my first victim. She was not intended to die! This is all a fluke! The basilisk should have killed hundreds, not just this one!

More than that, I feel an inescapable terror rise up within me as Tom realizes just what he has done. The boy has awakened and he is sobbing almost madly as I slap Myrtle across the face. When that fails, I entreat her to wake up.

"Yes, Myrtle, you play dead very well, but now it's time to get up. Now it's time to get up. Come on, Myrtle. You're getting your outfit all wet and dirty. Do you really want that? And it's such a nice outfit as well."

I dare not compliment her features. She would know I was lying then. Still, she doesn't wake up.

I shake her harder now. This can't be the end. This can't be it! If all that's left of the victims is her then the school will be closed down rather than brought down and I'd be sent back there! Tom cannot handle that place anymore and neither can I.

"Get up, Myrtle! Get up!"

But Myrtle doesn't move because she's angry. Tom refuses to accept her death and I try to muffle him because he won't stop crying.

I'm still holding onto this wet, heavy carcass when the door opens and Professor Dumbledore lays a hand on my shoulder.

---

"Tom? Do you think I'm pretty?"

It was a foolish question. She knew the answer even before I had to say anything so why does she bother in asking?

"You're horrid, Myrtle."

Her eyes fill with large tears that cascade down her face. Sometimes I think she tries to wash away her ugliness, she does this so often.

"Perhaps if you stopped wailing, your features may change," I suggest to her, trying not to push her away so much. I hope she takes the hint and lets me alone.

Myrtle makes an interesting case study. She tends to be in the places where I am, even if those places were sought after by me because of the solitude they can provide. Her hand reaches out and touches my shoe, for I'm reclining by a tree and she is sitting across from me.

"You're a mean boy, Tom Riddle. You're as mean to me as Olive Hornby." She pouts which just makes her look uglier. She can be attractive only when she's not trying to be.

"Surely not as bad as all that," I entice her, my voice quiet. She is not my friend but I don't wish to lose her company. Not just yet. She amuses me terribly and I enjoy pushing at her limitations, always desiring to see how far she can go.

"Oh, but you are!" And she is teasing me now. "You are, Tom Riddle! You are because you're lying to me. You don't think of me as ugly!"

Well, this was an unforeseen development. "And why do you say that?"

"Because you sit there and you listen to me while you don't let anyone else near you now." She seems almost cocky in her knowledge and I cannot help a smile from appearing.

"Is that so?"

"You push them all away. All of them except me."

"I see. That's very observant of you, Myrtle."

She nods and silence springs about between us. I enjoy those moments of false realization when another believes me to be all figured out and laid beneath them. The moment is bound to fade, however, as she falls back into her mood of self-pity.

"All the others hate me, Tom. They think I'm ugly and wretched and a Mudblood. That's what they call me. But I'm not a Mudblood, Tom! My blood is just the same as theirs!"

She is whining.

"Why do they all hate me, Tom? Why do they all call me ugly?"

Because you are, Myrtle. You are.

And I can no longer resist. I lean forward. "Do you want to get them to stop, Myrtle?"

She looks at me, her wide eyes made all the wider due to her glasses.

"Then kill yourself, Myrtle. Jump off the astronomy tower and give them your blood-splattered smear on the ground to talk about instead." My tone is gentle though my words are vile and this contradiction confuses her for a few precious moments and I relish the look of surprise on her face.

She draws back her hand and leaves a mark on my cheek that will be there for a full day. I do not see her at all for a week.

---

I do not find the chamber. The chamber finds me. It closes off around me, surrounding me with its dark walls and Tom flies into a panic while I push him forward.

Tom Riddle is worthless. A painted creature of my own invention designed merely to get me through this world with the least amount of trouble. His politeness and quietness attract others and keeps the spotlight away from me. I feel free in his body even when his soul attempts to wrest control away from me. He can be such a fighter but in the end, he knows it's useless.

The basilisk rears its head and I command the creature, proud that I have come so far. Tom still needs to be destroyed at some point but until then, he provides a bit of usefulness to me in keeping us both safe from the prying eyes of our enemies.

In return, I give him suffering the likes of which he's never encountered. It is a blissful feeling that creeps up on me whenever Tom fights against my wishes. He does not desire to do this wicked deed and I quiet him up.

Better that we have found a friend, he says. Better that we have found something that needs us.

Better that we can control the entire school now, I say, and he trembles under my voice that sounds so much like his own. He is young yet. He will understand one day, provided I allow him that opportunity.

Ah, but sometimes I hear him plotting against me. He had been with Myrtle for only a few minutes before those words slipped from him.

"Leave me alone. Don't get close." And then he was curled up tightly into a ball as I ravaged his mind.

Myrtle's hands came down upon us both and she tried to pull us into her lap but I would have none of it.

I gave her a mark to rival the one she had given me and her hand had gone to her lip to touch the drop of blood upon it.

"It's not mud," she said sadly, her voice shaking. "See?"

Tom had to look because he had been told the same thing. I allowed him that only because he was needed to rectify the situation. The apologies were nauseating.

Now, within this chamber, I hold complete control of him and while he does not stay quiet, he does not try to fight against me.

---

I go with Dumbledore up the stairs. He carries Myrtle's body and as we walk, I silently plead to Myrtle to wake up. To tell Dumbledore that she's fine, never been better, and that she was only playing a trick on me because of what I said to her before.

She is angry. That is all. Just angry due to my comment on her dying. Nevermind that it was weeks ago. Grudges can be built up and I should know now, shouldn't I?

Dumbledore lays her down on a bed in the nurse's station and then sits me down on one across from Myrtle. His eyes are no longer on Myrtle but on my tousled appearance. For the first time, I do not feel clean.

But he still should be watching her! She could get up right now and stick her tongue out at me and call me mean and he'd never know!

Dumbledore's hand tilts my head up by my chin and Tom struggles against me, not truly realizing the danger that has presented itself. I expect disappointment on the Professor's face or a cold, calculating look that delves deep into my soul. He so wishes to rip me apart and even Tom is aware of that.

Instead, all I get is gentleness. Not the false kind I administer to everyone but the kind that seems genuine until it's used against a person. I cannot look away from him but I do not feel his presence in my mind.

"What happened?" He is testing me. Testing my defenses. Trying to see if I'd lie to him while looking into his eyes. He doesn't really know what happened. Not all of it. Maybe he can guess.

"I found her," was all I said before I yank my head down and start dry heaving. The battle within me intensifies as I feel Dumbledore's hands on me once again, leading me to the bathroom.

I don't think Myrtle's faking it anymore. However, the lack of regret gnaws at me and Tom can feel this as well. He should be sad, shouldn't he? Yet he is not and I know I cannot afford to feel any such thing. Remorse is for the weak. I regret nothing I did, not even in my current pathetic state made all the more so by the Professor watching in the doorway as I grip onto the toilet.

Water hits against my leg and Myrtle's body comes out of the toilet of the nurse's station and I stagger back, catching myself before I can scream. This is a trick! A trick and nothing more! Dumbledore notices nothing but my own fear and there is concern etched upon his features.

False concern. It has to be. For one another look, there is nothing there. No water. No Myrtle.

"Tom?" His voice is kind and soft and I have no answer for him. Nothing except for the one I gave him before.

"I found her."

---

There were inquiries, of course. What was I doing in the bathroom anyway? I was looking for Myrtle. Why? I wanted to apologize to her for what I said. Is that all? That is all.

I am dismissed and receive sympathetic looks from my peers. Many of them knew nothing of death but they could see how I was affected and that in turn affected them. Far be it for their leader to go off looking as though the world just spun off its tilt.

The chamber is closed up and my anger for Myrtle comes back. She allowed herself to be killed in order to force my hand. Now I have to close everything up and the basilisk can no longer come out. I will end up losing my own control and Tom, wretched worthless Tom, will be left to his own devices.

A part of me dreads what is to come next. Another hybrid makes his lumbering way through the halls, not knowing that I am about to play the hero with him.

It's zeal, Albus, I hear Dippet say. Ever since that capture, I have taken a pleasure in listening outside Dumbledore's room, straining my ears to hear his frantic pleas that Hagrid is innocent.

Zeal and nothing more. The zeal to find the killer who had taken Myrtle away from me and I have to bite into my clenched fist to keep from laughing. Do they honestly think that about Myrtle and myself? Well, I have given them no reason to feel anything different. I have taken to insulting and lashing out at Olive Hornby for Myrtle's own sake and every time an insult leaves me, Dumbledore's eyebrows go up and Dippet gets that obnoxious knowing look.

Let them have their delusions so long as I am safe.

Myrtle's ghost haunted Olive Hornby for a short time. I was fortunate not to have any classes with her but when the Ministry came down to see the ghost, the hallways were backed up and crowded. Myrtle was banished to the girl's bathroom on the second floor and water flooded the hallway.

I could not see her for a very long time.

Hagrid cried large tears, not unlike Myrtle, when his wand was snapped. I watched the process play itself out from a window high above the scene. Nervous laughter erupted from me, quiet and near hysterical.

Tom found no amusement in this, but relief that he was not caught, that we can continue our lives as we were. I had to share this news with someone! Someone had to know of my genius, of the sheer idiocy that was the school's professors.

I found myself in Myrtle's bathroom and she smiled at me. Still as ugly as ever, now only transparent. The sharp realization came so suddenly that I nearly staggered.

In the end, what use is there to fool the stupid? Anyone could do so. I have succeeded in doing very nothing.

"Tom?"

Her voice is still the same. Broken. Her despair has not left her.

I can see my reflection in the mirror above the sink, but there is something wrong with it. I look distorted, blurred at the edges.

"Tom?"

Be quiet, Myrtle. Be silent! Be still! I do not speak to her. I am too busy watching as my reflection fades into the glass and I know I will not be able to see myself ever again. Tom is slowly diminishing, becoming nothing more than a splinter within my being. Where is he going? Do I still need him? My fingers caress the smooth surface of the mirror as I search for a trace of myself.

"Tom?"

Going...

"Tom?"

Going...

_"Tom?"_

_Gone._

It took Dippet a long while to replace the broken mirrors in Myrtle's bathroom. When asked about them, Myrtle held her silence.

---

"You've forgotten me."

"No, I haven't, you stupid bitch. You won't let me."

Myrtle's spirit follows me around the Middle East where I put my body through such transformations and rituals. Fires that burn the skin, potions that distort one's features. Glamour charms and transfiguration spells and alchemy all mixed into one.

I intend to use them internally, not externally. Externally, I am already changing. The horcruxes are making sure of that. Kill and slice. Kill and slice. Kill and slice. One little cut of soul goes here, another goes there.

The transformation is painful but I abide. This pain lets me know I am alive. Death is what I wish to avoid and doing all of this means that I shall never die. My immortality is always just a horcrux away.

So many have only one or two. I will have more. Much more. This is a self-mutilation designed expressly to relieve the fear I still carry with me. My own fear of death leads me into these missions and I cut away at myself in order to ease my own tension. It works for only a little while but then I send the horcrux off to a safe place and I am alone once again with only my fears for company.

My Death Eaters do not help matters. They don't understand what it is to fear. They don't care much about death, preferring to envision the world I shall help them create. If I do not save them, then they can always rely on their own dark magic to save them.

So I recruit the broken ones, like me. Broken and those who have fears akin to myself. Lucius is one. He fears death solely because he has a wife and intends to sire a brat to continue the lineage. True, that fear is not caused by purely selfish means but I accept it nonetheless.

Others come and go and I recruit more based on their minds and principles. They have their own ethics that they keep to themselves and sometimes I enjoy pressing at their largest, open wounds. The thoughts that spill forth are amazing!

Some have killed before they met me. Some have humiliating secrets. Some of them are just..foolish nothings that yearn for protection. All have given me something to feast upon. Sadness, despair, anger...

I am becoming less human.

Yet still, this ghost persists in haunting me, and my nails, which grow longer every day, sink into my scalp as I try to pry her voice from my head. Nothing ever works. Not even when I tell myself that she is truly not here. She is still in Hogwarts.

She is still in that bathroom.

The pain of the horcruxes is minimal in comparison.

---

_"Seeking to forget makes exile all the longer, the secret of redemption lies in remembrance."_

---

"Will you be mine?"

"Yes, my Lord."

There is such reverence in this child's voice. He has come before me, begging me for a purpose and I smile at him as he takes my Mark.

Black magic drifts out of my wand, dripping into his skin and burning the flesh. The hiss and sizzle of the fire within pries open layers of skin to delve deep into the muscle and tissue below. Tendrils of darkness cling to the bones and it takes root within the very soul of my own. It is a painful process and I love to hear them scream at the invasion, which is far worse than any Legilimancy can be.

Severus Snape is no exception.

He comes to me to seek refuge and sanctuary from the world, though he does not know that yet. Like me, he seeks atonement for the past deeds of his parents. It is not enough that they mishandled them, but their abuse started as soon as they lay together and produced this freak of a child. Another hybrid. Severus' life then took a nasty turn of events as he found himself living my own life, only without the charisma to see him through.

He never saw inside the second floor's bathroom. He never so much as cared to speak with Myrtle. It's through him I find out what became of her and I laugh as I hold this new acquisition of mine.

He stirs in my lap, passed out due to the pain of the Mark and I allowed him to rest with me. This gives me ample time to search out his soul and see just what he's good for.

The parallels to myself are frightening and yet, they are nothing compared to the allusions between him and Myrtle.

The same sad despair. How many times has this one cried? Bullies. Snivellus, he tells me. Snivellus is what his mind reads.

Moaning Myrtle.

I never once had a nickname. I was always 'Tom' or 'Riddle' or 'Lord Voldemort' in my later years.

I shut my eyes, my head leaning against the back of my throne and I can picture Severus' body floating amidst the water instead of Myrtle's. Something within me clutches Severus' body tighter and he wakes up.

My claws are inadvertently pressing into his Mark.

"My Lord?"

For awhile, I cannot speak. For awhile, something else takes over. For awhile, it seems That Boy is not as dead as I would have him be.

"Call me Tom."

The moment does not seem keen to pass and I seek to nullify it as soon as possible. The being within me, that wretched last shred of humanity will have to go in order to complete my goal.

Tom is worthless, useless, and yet, he still doesn't know when it's time to die.

"Tom." The name slips past Severus' lips and I despise how it sounds. Gentle and with a great deal of hesitation. I'm even more sickened as I realize my mouth is against his right after that old name slides past his lips.

I pull back, taking control once again of my own body. It is mine, dammit! I backhand him across the face, sending him off my lap and onto the hard floor below. He's surprised, of course, and immediately sits up while crawling backwards just a bit to keep me in vision. Just in case I might try something else, no doubt.

"I am your Lord. Nothing more."

Something in his eyes doesn't wish to accept this and something within me feels triumph but then it's hastily stifled and knows nothing. As soon as the victory is gone, the light dims from Severus' eyes and his head is bowed.

"Yes, my Lord."

I do not feel triumphant.

---

You deserved Myrtle, I say to the dead boy who lives inside of me.

He does not say anything. He is dead.

He deserves Myrtle because Myrtle was pathetic. As pathetic and useless as him and her death only served to show off Tom's own dismal failure at what he did. It was good that Tom died with her, otherwise I would be hard-pressed to simply strangle the life out of him.

That would not have worked so well since it would mean my own demise as well but to put the boy out of his misery would be a pleasure that death could barely touch. I despise the useless, the worthless, the pointless.

Severus stirs in his sleep and it isn't long before he wakes up to see him frowning down at him. Of course, he believes himself to be the cause and he's ready with an apology.

"Quiet." I could not stand to hear what he had to say right now. He is in this position because I called him to me, to pleasure me upon my own throne.

Myrtle's eyes had been watching me then, accusing me not for killing her but for killing the boy. I tried to laugh her away, telling her that the boy never loved her in the first place, never wanted her but my laugh came out garbled and to cover it up, I called Severus over and bid him to get down on his knees.

To be honest, I was surprised that he complied so well. Looking into his mind, I found a wanting there that was eerily similar to what I have seen before within him. Does he see me? Does he truly feel me as he takes me into his mouth?

I touch his hair and his face, memorizing his features as though I hadn't before and he does not feel like Myrtle. Only his wanting is the same and I shut my eyes so I wouldn't have to look at him.

I could still feel Myrtle's accusing eyes and I hear her crying in her toilet so many miles away. Only then do I end up laughing and Severus looks up startled.

"My good little spy. Are you waiting to deceive me?" I ask him, already knowing what he'll say. This can get to be so tiring but I enjoy watching him squirm.

"I would never betray you, my Lord."

"Ah, but that is what all traitors say."

That terrifies him. He looks back at his task, needing to go back to it and not enter this sort of conversation but still he needs to assuage my fears even though he damn well knows he cannot possibly do such a thing.

After awhile, I take pity on him. "Continue." He does and when I'm finished, he cleans me well enough and calls me merciful.

I invite him back to my room where I hold him down and tear him open until the sheet is stained with his blood and my own satisfaction. He did not cry once and I feel proud despite myself.

The morning after is not awkward, as I do not allow it to be. I get up, shower, and ignore Severus as he gets out of my bed and puts on his clothes, not even daring to ask me to use my shower.

"You need to work on your aggressive side," I tell him before bidding him leave my room.

He is summoned to my room the next night and the following night. There is a gradual pattern here as whenever I take him to me, I am unbothered by dreams and Myrtle's dead body.

Severus is an intriguing project as well. With every night, he gets more and more cocksure and arrogant around the others. He has just been raised quite high to the others and some bend over backwards to cater to him. He revels in this newfound obedience but doesn't care for the fame.

Who knows how else his aggressiveness will go?

---

"Tom."

He calls me such with trepidation and I can taste his own fears oozing out of his skin and catching on the air.

"May I-"

He trails off and I don't blame him as my eyes catch his own and I am frowning. Are we so intimate now that he has adopted my Christian name? Who is he trying to reach?

He touches my face and his fingers are cold and reek of potions ingredients. I can smell a trace of blood underneath his fingernails and I swallow the urge to curse him for daring to touch me with such filth upon him. I lick his palm instead, tasting his fear. It's salty. Everything about him is salty, including the blood under his nails and he moans as my tongue slithers under them.

He wishes to call me Tom. I don't know why and I ask him.

He stammers and I can read the answer better within his own head. His answer leaves me doubting my perception of myself and my own humanity which I had long thought lost. Did Dumbledore teach him something before Severus killed him? Is this Severus' own line of attack? Is this what he wants?

I jerk away from him and immediately regret doing so. I probably just indicated that I am not yet beyond the reach of someone. It's so difficult to gauge Snape at times. Does he mean to make me reveal a weakness I do not have? What angle is he working at here?

Or is it truly an angle at all?

"Your humanity is important to me, my Lord," he answers, bowing so that I cannot see his eyes and I think he is weeping but I'm not so sure. Is he so worried about my reaction? Does he fear the pain? Does he fear my rejection of him?

I say nothing and he goes silent himself and for awhile, I can only hear the hiss in the air as Myrtle's body falls to the ground. There is a thud and the birds that had been resting within the tree near us suddenly take off.

My wand is out and I don't remember why I put the Cruciatus on Snape, or when I did so. I take it off of him and watch as he struggles to regain his composure, knowing I despise weakness.

He fears my rejection and in the end, that saves him from the killing curse.

"Will you remember your part?" I ask him, not expecting an answer. I don't think he understood what I said but he's trying to. He's trying very hard to understand everything I say in case I do walk away from him or declare him useless.

He nods without knowing what it is he's agreeing to.

He doesn't understand that Tom is dead.

I don't feel inclined to share the news with him.

I use the Cruciatus once more on him and then hold him as he comes down from the pain afterwards, smoothing his hair down as my nails cut against his scalp. His hands go around my arm as he clings to me and I know he's crying because the pain is just that bad and he plays his role perfectly as my tortured spy. He will play it for the rest of his life whether he knows this or not. It is all his fault, of course. Everything is his fault right now.

His tears fall upon my robe, darkening the material.

"Who are you?" He asks and I do not answer him.

He clutches at me and I hear him ask the question again, over and over as though he needs to hear an answer, a way out of the pain he is in right now. I'm his only hope and his eyes are gleaming with desperation and need.

Something within me twists and poor dead Myrtle floats along the water and bumps against my wet trouser leg.

I grab at Severus' shoulders, knowing I have to edit the script just a bit and find my own peace in his black eyes. I think Severus is lost in the pain. He can't remember what should come next and I forget to kill him.

"You may call me Tom."

In seconds, his pain vanishes and it is as though I have given him the world. I hate him when he embraces me, his cries becoming muffled as his mouth touches my shoulder. I touch his back, tracing his vertebrae and resisting the urge to break him.

He thanks me and I don't know if he's speaking to me or to Dumbledore for the final piece of information the old man gave him.

I feel like less of myself.

---

Severus is back again at my chambers, asking to be let in and I open up the door in compliance. He amuses me in ways I cannot begin to comprehend. He asks for Tom and I draw his mouth unto my own. This ugly child appears to be born again underneath me as he screams my name over and over again.

He hates that I leave him as soon as it's over. The entire act is messy to me and I need to shower before anything feels too sticky. My reflection is still missing from the mirror and I draw my name in the vapor, enjoying the smoothness of the glass beneath my finger. How strange it is to feel the surface and yet not see what is doing the writing.

Severus comes up behind me and embraces me around my waist and I do not push him away because I like his warmth.

He calls me Tom and I call him mine. I've stopped addressing him by name now, wanting to see how far he can slide away from his own humanity. Not as far as I have, for I have transcended time and age to claim my own rewards, free of any vile blood.

He has no such mercies and I remind him of it every time I take him into bed with me. I tear his skin and bring about a few tears from his face. The salt in them intrigues me and makes him burn as I rub them into his wounds. I like the way his back arches and how his scars gleam in the sharp moonlight.

He says that he is mine and I do not believe him, but I do like hearing him say it. His punishment for lying is more pain, which is not truly punishment at all anymore. A part of me wants him to die underneath me, to take command of his own life so he cannot ruin this game. He will not steal anything from me, least of all his death scene.

I forget to kill him, however, and take his soul instead. His fingernails make deep red marks upon my back and I bite into his flesh in retribution.

His skin seems so different from my own, though we are both very pale. I'm still far too thin for his liking and he sometimes lets me know in his thoughts and I make him starve for the next few days until he's too weak to move anymore. His blood reminds me of what I used to be and it's humbling but needed.

He is another Myrtle I realize one night. Her soul has been transferred to this boy. He has the same abuses and he has the same needs as her. He would cry himself out in his first year and in his next few years, he would seek out that attention. I laugh in his ear and call him a four-eyed freak and he's not sure what I'm talking about and he thinks me crazy.

Crazy old Tom.

But then I take him into my mouth and his protests die on his lips, assuming he would ever really let them out, and he careens his body this way and that like a writhing serpent and I know he is not Myrtle because I would not touch Myrtle in such a way. He is not Myrtle even though he shares her same tears and frustration. He is not Myrtle even though he needs me in the same way.

He is not Myrtle because he is not dead.

---

Someone was screaming. Thin lips came into my view, pushing aside the vision of the ceiling. Potter was still raving and I could hear his voice from a distance. He was exuberant from his victory, even I could hear the triumph in his voice overshadowed by his loss. His pain would be his ending and, through that, I have won.

My form has been shattered and ripped open by the Sectumsempra curse. The horcrux spills out of me and I know him as I know myself. The worthless one has come back. He has been within me all this time, refusing to die and to be buried within me.

I had to push him down, you see. I had to push him down, compress him, keep him hidden so the world wouldn't know of my failing. I cannot tell anyone this as my own rich blood flows from my lips.

I can feel the horcrux activating within me, trying to heal and still, I despise it for all it represents. Slivers of self that I have cut out in order to secure my self in this world. No one really understood that in the end. No one but me and I have always been alone.

The darkness is coming quickly and I can feel hair upon my face as wet drops hit my cheeks and lips. They're salty, coming from black eyes and they sicken me even as they are signs of the loyalty I am shown. It's all an act, isn't it? Everything has been an act and I think Severus has forgotten that at the end of the play, the actors go home and real life begins again.

He has forgotten, which is why he's still holding onto me and crying out a name that sounds so unfamiliar to me now. A nonentity that I have struggled to take away from myself. I am reminded of Myrtle and how she refused to play her role correctly. I am reminded of my own self, which refuses to get back up and kill the bastard child.

I guess I'm not as good an actor as I once thought.

"Tom," I hear Severus cry. "Tom."

My final thoughts are ones of confusion and I have to ask before the reaper covers me whole. "Tom? Who is that?"

Pain engulfs me as long fingers enter into the wounds in my chest. The sectumsempra spell has torn me completely open and I hear Potter screaming at his former Professor to stop whatever the hell he is doing. I cannot stop him as I cannot move and his actions surprise me so much, I wish to play this out until the end.

Quite suddenly, the pain ends and the horcrux within me is no longer activated. Instead, it glistens silver in Severus' hands and he cradles the bloodied container to his chest.

He has played me for a fool. He has played us all for fools and I curse his name even as he apparates away. Tom. He has been after that worthless thing all this time. Now he shall have him and at long last, I'm free from that miserable being. I feel light, unburdened by the painful load that is humanity. My life slips out of my fingertips but instead of fear, there's a sickening relief that while the battle is no longer my own, it is still in effect and Severus will get his once he realizes that the horcrux is useless. Is worthless.

I am Lord Voldemort and I see Myrtle's corpse at my feet and my life begins again.


End file.
